Thursday, August 9, 2012

Desiccate, by Sandra Ridley

Go ahead. Forget what you meant with the idea in mind that you can
forget anything if you really want to. If you try hard enough. If you know now
what you want and if what you want might make you forget that you felt more
than you felt. That you wanted to. That you would have. That you did. Sure, you
can forget how it started and then you won’t have to worry about the end. Before I was gone. Forget how we got drunk on
warm sherry out on Somerset and it wasn’t even eleven o’clock in the morning.
Of course –that– you’ll forget.
What you did. What you’re doing. Always leaving something out. Someone behind.
Sure, I’ll learn that. I can learn anything. If I try hard enough. But this
part right now can be that part you won’t forget. Don’t write it if you don’t want
to. Don’t write any of this down. What do you have to brag about anyway? Get
lost. Go get something to eat. Go find another bottle and drink till sundown.
Make yourself feel better. Just don’t go crying to me about it.